How quickly this escalated
by Dantriestobeproductive
Summary: The same day you cheat in a test, your family and friends (and your teacher, too) are blown in a freakish explosion in the place you could have never seen as a mortal danger. It's ridiculous.


Is this..._second person POV_? Yeah, I don't know either, this wrote itself long ago, and now here we are. Enjoy the TUE timeline based angst, with dark implications and heavy symbolism.

* * *

The same day you cheat in a test, a test so important that could mark your success or failure in life, your family and friends (and your teacher, too) are blown in a freakish explosion in the place you could have never seen as a mortal danger.

It's ridiculous.

Pure nonsense.

Your parents, proud ghost hunters, strong enough to sometimes make you fear for your life, and your friends, who have gone through hell and more with you, kicking butt at your side, and they're all gone because of heated condiment.

And the reason they were there in the first place is because you cheated.

For _cheating an exam_.

It's so ridiculous you can't but see the twisted irony in it.

Heated _condiment_.

* * *

_Well, that escalated quickly_, your mind thinks as your senses start to blur, and everything tones to grayer colors. As shock starts to settle in, you powerlessly watch the remnants of the Nasty Burger burn. You don't really notice the smoking arm at your left and, when you do, your eyes fix in it, skin charred too much to know _whose_ it was.

When they find you, you're still looking at the arm.

* * *

You're not really aware of what happens around you anymore or, more accurately, you're aware of _everything_, but nothing faces you. You see Tucker's and Sam's parents crying, the Foleys coming near you to hug you and give you trembling, hiccupped words, but the meaning doesn't sink further, and you let yourself be hugged, petted, pitied, without dwelling in it.

In truth, you aren't thinking or feeling anything anymore.

* * *

The funerals, though after much discussion, are finally held in the same place, at the same time, and there's more people than anyone could have expected. You don't attend, but your green eyes watch from afar as they bury the closet caskets. You don't realize you can't hear anything, and the caskets slowly disappear in the ground, surrounded by silence, at least in your mind. It's like turning deaf after a bomb dropped near you.

Something calls your attention, and glassy eyes look at the girl in the ground, dressed in the red attire and already pointing at you with a gun. She says something, but it loses its meaning in your mind, shock making you feel even more sluggish for a moment.

"I killed them."

The reaction is instantaneous, and her face morphs in one of deep hatred. She fires, and you are only able to escape thanks to your instincts, pumping adrenaline in your veins and telling you to _run_. And you do.

Or fly, maybe. It's all a blur for a while.

Your words start to sink as your feet touch the dirty floor of an alley, and white rings go through you, leaving a black haired, dirty little kid who still smells like smoke. Your hands look for the wall, and then your shoulder and your back, and blue eyes look at the sky as the smoke who clouds your mind starts to disappear.

Funnily enough, it's in that moment when it starts to rain.

* * *

When you wake up on the mornings, your mind is so set in denial that you wonder if you fell asleep and missed school, and you muse about nightmares and hamburgers. Then, as you proceed with your day of a "normal" teenager, the people around you, with their red eyes and tear streaked cheeks, remind you of the truth. And the illusion crumbles.

Everyday is the same.

* * *

You soon realize that the Foleys won't be able to take you in for long, and you know what awaits if you let _them_ take you.

You just want some place where to try to start again, to keep alive.

(_To hide._)

Somehow, that ends up being Vlad Master's house.

Nor his happy face or even his scheming smile stirs in you one ounce of anger, sadness, hatred or pain. It doesn't stir anything at all.

Nothing.

And it seems that, more than living there, you start to haunt the place.

* * *

You just want to make the pain go away.

You just want to smile again, or to not feel as if everyday the world tried to choke you to death.

You're convinced that, if Vlad agrees, you'll be closer to your goal, and using him for it doesn't seem like something to dwell on, feel bad about.

The black and white lines started blurring in a messy stain inside your head after the Accident (_it wasn't, it was your fault_).

You're guilty of murder and you know it, and you wonder why no one has come banging at the door to arrest you by now.

Well, now you'll be guilty of other things too.

Because you just want to make the pain go away, and at this point you are past caring about morals or seeking help. No one can help you, and the best try are the pills you have to chug every night in order to be able to sleep a few hours (you once thought that taking more would make you sleep _longer_. It didn't work out. _Stupid half-ghost powers_).

You can't have what has already been lost.

So you'll have to have it in some sort of afterlife, or whatever it is that awaits you at the end.

You will be there soon.

* * *

...Except that, you won't. And, funnily enough, killing provides to be a more entertaining and stress relieving activity that you'd ever thought.

Such is life, with its ridiculous twists and turns.

Or, in you case, _after_life.


End file.
